The Underdogs — Part 2, chapters 3-5
III
"General Macias, I want you to meet my future wife," Luis Cervantes said with great emphasis as he led a beautiful girl into the dining room.
They all turned to look at her.
Her large blue eyes grew wide in wonder.
She was barely fourteen.
Her skin was like a rose, soft, pink, fresh; her hair was very fair; the expression in her eyes was partly impish curiosity, partly a vague childish fear.
Perceiving that Demetrio eyed her like a beast of prey, Luis Cervantes congratulated himself.
They made room for her between Luis Cervantes and Blondie, opposite Demetrio.
Bottles of tequila, dishes of cut glass, bowls, porcelains and vases lay scattered over the table indiscriminately.
Meco, carrying a box of beer upon his shoulders, came in cursing and sweating.
"You don't know this fellow Blondie yet," said War Paint, noticing the persistent glances he was casting at Luis Cervantes' bride.
"He's a smart fellow, I can tell you, and he never misses a trick."
She gazed at him lecherously, adding: "That's why I don't like to see him close, even on a photograph!"
The orchestra struck up a raucous march as though they were playing at a bullfight.
The soldiers roared with joy.
"What fine tripe, General; I swear I haven't tasted the like of it in all my life," Blondie said, as he began to reminisce about "El Monico" at Chihuahua.
"You really like it, Blondie?"
responded Demetrio.
"Go ahead, call for more, eat your bellyful."
"It's just the way I like it," Anastasio chimed in.
"Yes, I like good food!
But nothing really tastes good to you unless you belch!"
The noise of mouths being filled, of ravenous feeding followed.
All drank copiously.
At the end of the dinner, Luis Cervantes rose, holding a champagne glass in one hand, and said: "General..."
"Ho!"
War Paint interrupted.
"This speech-making business isn't for me;
I'm all against it.
I'll go out to the corral since there's no more eating here."
Presenting Demetrio with a black velvet-covered box containing a small brass eagle, Luis Cervantes made a toast which no one understood but everyone applauded enthusiastically.
Demetrio took the insignia in his hands; and with flushed face, and eyes shining, declared with great candor: "What in hell am I going to do with this buzzard!"
"Compadre," Anastasio Montanez said in a tremulous voice.
"I ain't got much to tell you...."
Whole minutes elapsed between his words; the cursed words would not come to Anastasio.
His face, coated with filth, unwashed for days, turned crimson, shining with perspiration.
Finally he decided to finish his toast at all costs.
"Well, I ain't got much to tell you, except that we are pals...."
Then, since everyone had applauded at the end of Luis Cervantes' speech, Anastasio having finished, made a sign, and the company clapped their hands in great gravity.
But everything turned out for the best, since his awkwardness inspired others.
Manteca and Quail stood up and made their toasts, too.
When Meco's turn came, War Paint rushed in shouting jubilantly, attempting to drag a splendid black horse into the dining room.
"My booty!
My booty!"
she cried, patting the superb animal on the neck.
It resisted every effort she made until a strong jerk of the rope and a sudden lash brought it in prancing smartly.
The soldiers, half drunk, stared at the beast with ill-disguised envy.
"I don't know what the hell this she-devil's got, but she always beats everybody to it," cried Blondie.
"She's been the same ever since she joined us at Tierra Blanca!"
"Hey, Pancracio, bring me some alfalfa for my horse," War Paint commanded crisply, throwing the horse's rope to one of the soldiers.
Once more they filled their glasses.
Many a head hung low with fatigue or drunkenness.
Most of the company, however, shouted with glee, including Luis Cervantes' girl.
She had spilled all her wine on a handkerchief and looked all about her with blue wondering eyes.
"Boys," Blondie suddenly screamed, his shrill, guttural voice dominating the mall, "I'm tired of living; I feel like killing myself right now.
I'm sick and tired of War Paint and this other little angel from heaven won't even look at me!"
Luis Cervantes saw that the last remark was addressed to his bride;
with great surprise he realized that it was not Demetrio's foot he had noticed close to the girl's, but Blondie's. He was boiling with indignation.
"Keep your eye on me, boys," Blondie went on, gun in hand.
"I'm going to shoot myself right in the forehead!"
He aimed at the large mirror on the opposite wall which gave back his whole body in reflection.
He took careful aim....
"Don't move, War Paint."
The bullet whizzed by, grazing War Paint's hair.
The mirror broke into large jagged fragments.
She did not even so much as blink.
IV
Late in the afternoon Luis Cervantes rubbed his eyes and sat up.
He had been sleeping on the hard pavement, close to the trunk of a fruit tree.
Anastasio, Pancracio and Quail slept nearby, breathing heavily.
His lips were swollen, his nose dry and cold.
There were bloodstains on his hands and shirt.
At once he recalled what had taken place.
Soon he rose to his feet and made for one of the bedrooms.
He pushed at the door several times without being able to force it open.
For a few minutes he stood there, hesitating.
No--he had not dreamed it.
Everything had really occurred just as he recalled it.
He had left the table with his bride and taken her to the bedroom, but just as he was closing the door, Demetrio staggered after them and made one leap toward them.
Then War Paint dashed in after Demetrio and began to struggle with him.
Demetrio, his eyes white-hot, his lips covered with long blond hairs, looked for the bride, in despair.
But War Paint pushed him back vigorously.
"What the hell is the matter with you?
What the hell are you trying to do?"
he demanded, furious.
War Paint put her leg between his, twisted it suddenly, and Demetrio fell to the ground outside of the bedroom.
He rose, raging.
"Help!
Help!
He's going to kill me!"
she cried, seizing Demetrio's wrist and turning the gun aside.
The bullet hit the floor.
War Paint continued to shriek.
Anastasio disarmed Demetrio from behind.
Demetrio, standing like a furious bull in the middle of the arena, cast fierce glances at all the bystanders, Luis Cervantes, Anastasio, Manteca, and the others.
"Goddamn you!
You've taken my gun away!
Christ!
As if I needed any gun to beat the hell out of you."
Flinging out his arms, beating and pummeling, he felled everyone within reach.
Down they rolled like tenpins.
Then, after that, Luis Cervantes could remember nothing more.
Perhaps his bride, terrified by all these brutes, had wisely vanished and hidden herself.
"Perhaps this bedroom communicates with the living room and I can go in through there," he thought, standing at the threshold.
At the sound of his footsteps, War Paint woke up.
She lay on the rug close to Demetrio at the foot of a couch filled with alfalfa and corn where the black horse had fed.
"What are you looking for?
Oh, hell, I know what you want!
Shame on you!
Why, I had to lock up your sweetheart because I couldn't struggle any more against this damned Demetrio.
Take the key, it's lying on that table, there!"
Luis Cervantes searched in vain all over the house.
"Come on, tell me all about your girl."
Nervously, Luis Cervantes continued to look for the key.
"Come on, don't be in such a hurry, I'll give it to you.
Come along, tell me; I like to hear about these things, you know.
That girl is your kind, she's not a country person like us."
"I've nothing to say.
She's my girl and we're going to get married, that's all."
"Ho!
Ho!
Ho!
You're going to marry her, eh?
Trying to teach your grandmother to suck eggs, eh?
Why, you fool, any place you just manage to get to for the first time in your life, I've left a hundred miles behind me, see.
I've cut my wisdom teeth.
It was Meco and Manteca who took the girl from her home: I knew that all the time.
You just gave them something so as to have her yourself, gave them a pair of cuff links ...
or a miraculous picture of some Virgin....
Am I right?
Sure, I am!
There aren't so many people in the world who know what's what, but I reckon you'll meet up with a few before you die!"
War Paint got up to give him the key but she could not find it either.
She was much surprised.
Quickly, she ran to the bedroom door and peered through the keyhole, standing motionless until her eye grew accustomed to the darkness within.
Without drawing away, she said: "You damned Blondie.
Son of a bitch!
Come here a minute, look!"
She went away laughing.
"Didn't I tell them all I'd never seen a smarter fellow in all my life!"
The following morning, War Paint watched for the moment when Blondie left the bedroom to feed his horses....
"Come on, Angel Face.
Run home quick!"
The blue-eyed girl, with a face like a Madonna, stood naked save for her chemise and stockings.
War Paint covered her with Manteca's lousy blanket, took her by the hand and led her to the street.
"God, I'm happy," War Paint cried.
"I'm crazy ...
about Blondie ...
now."
V
Like neighing colts, playful when the rainy season begins, Demetrio's men galloped through the sierra.
"To Moyahua, boys.
Let's go to Demetrio Macias' country!"
"To the country of Monico the cacique!"
The landscape grew clearer; the sun margined the diaphanous sky with a fringe of crimson.
Like the bony shoulders of immense sleeping monsters, the chains of mountains rose in the distance.
Crags there were like heads of colossal native idols; others like giants' faces, their grimaces awe-inspiring or grotesque, calling forth a smile or a shudder at a presentment of mystery.
Demetrio Macias rode at the head of his men; behind him the members of his staff: Colonel Anastasio Montanez, Lieutenant-Colonel Pancracio, Majors Luis Cervantes and Blondie.
Still further behind came War Paint with Venancio, who paid her many compliments and recited the despairing verses of Antonio Plaza.
As the sun's rays began to slip from the housetops, they made their entrance into Moyahua, four abreast, to the sound of the bugle.
The roosters' chorus was deafening, dogs barked their alarm, but not a living soul stirred on the streets.
War Paint spurred her black horse and with one jump was abreast with Demetrio.
They rode forward, elbow to elbow.
She wore a silk dress and heavy gold earrings.
Proudly her pale blue gown deepened her olive skin and the coppery spots on her face and arms.
Riding astride, she had pulled her skirts up to her knees; her stockings showed, filthy and full of runs.
She wore a gun at her side, a cartridge belt hung over the pommel of her saddle.
Demetrio was also dressed in his best clothes.
His broad-brimmed hat was richly embroidered; his leather trousers were tight-fitting and adorned with silver buttons; his coat was embroidered with gold thread.
There was a sound of doors being beaten down and forced open.
The soldiers had already scattered through the town, to gather together ammunition and saddles from everywhere.
"We're going to bid Monico good morning," Demetrio said gravely, dismounting and tossing his bridle to one of his men.
"We're going to have breakfast with Don Monico, who's a particular friend of mine ...."
The general's staff smiled ...
a sinister, malign smile....
Making their spurs ring against the pavement, they walked toward a large pretentious house, obviously that of a cacique.
"It's closed airtight," Anastasio Montanez said, pushing the door with all his might.
"That's all right.
I'll open it," Pancracio answered, lowering his rifle and pointing it at the lock.
"No, no," Demetrio said, "knock first."
Three blows with the butt of the rifle.
Three more.
No answer.
Pancracio disobeys orders.
He fires, smashing the lock.
The door opens.
Behind, a confusion of skirts and children's bare legs rushing to and fro, pell-mell.
"I want wine.
Hey, there: wine!"
Demetrio cries in an imperious voice, pounding heavily on a table.
"Sit down, boys."
A lady peeps out, another, a third; from among black skirts, the heads of frightened children.
One of the women, trembling, walks toward a cupboard and, taking out some glasses and a bottle, serves wine.
"What arms have you?"
Demetrio demands harshly.
"Arms, arms...?"
the lady answers, a taste of ashes on her tongue.
"What arms do you expect us to have!
We are respectable, lonely old ladies!"
"Lonely, eh!
Where's Senor Monico?"
"Oh, he's not here, gentlemen, I assure you!
We merely rent the house from him, you see.
We only know him by name!"
Demetrio orders his men to search the house.
"No, please don't. We'll bring you whatever we have ourselves, but please for God's sake, don't do anything cruel.
We're spinsters, lone women ...
perfectly respectable...."
"Spinsters, hell!
What about these kids here?"
Pancracio interrupts brutally.
"Did they spring from the earth?"
The women disappear hurriedly, to return with an old shotgun, covered with dust and cobwebs, and a pistol with rusty broken springs.
Demetrio smiles.
"All right, then, let's see the money."
"Money?
Money?
But what money do you think a couple of spinsters have?
Spinsters alone in the world....?"
They glance up in supplication at the nearest soldier; but they are seized with horror.
For they have just seen the Roman soldier who crucified Our Lord in the Via Crucis of the parish!
They have seen Pancracio!
Demetrio repeats his order to search.
Once again the women disappear to return this time with a moth-eaten wallet containing a few Huerta bills.
Demetrio smiles and without further delay calls to his men to come in.
Like hungry dogs who have sniffed their meat, the mob bursts in, trampling down the women who sought to bar the entrance with their bodies.
Several faint, fall to the ground; others flee in panic.
The children scream.
Pancracio is about to break the lock of a huge wardrobe when suddenly the doors open and out comes a man with a rifle in his hands.
"Senor Don Monico!"
they all exclaim in surprise.
"Demetrio, please, don't harm me!
Please don't harm me!
Please don't hurt me!
You know, Senor Don Demetrio, I'm your friend!"
Demetrio Macias smiles slyly.
"Are friends," he asked, "usually welcomed gun in hand?"
Don Monico, in consternation, throws himself at Demetrio's feet, clasps his knees, kisses his shoes: "My wife!
...
My children!
...
Please, Senor Don Demetrio, my friend!"
Demetrio with taut hand puts his gun back in the holster.
A painful silhouette crosses his mind.
He sees a woman with a child in her arms walking over the rocks of the sierra in the moonlight.
A house in flames....
"Clear out.
Everybody outside!"
he orders darkly.
His staff obeys.
Monico and the ladies kiss his hands, weeping with gratitude.
The mob in the street, talking and laughing, stands waiting for the general's permission to ransack the cacique's house.
"I know where they've buried their money but I won't tell," says a youngster with a basket in his hands.
"Hm!
I know the right place, mind you," says an old woman carrying a burlap sack to hold whatever the good Lord will provide.
"It's on top of something ...
there's a lot of trinkets nearby and then there's a small bag with mother-of-pearl around it.
That's the thing to look for!"
"You ain't talking sense, woman," puts in a man.
"They ain't such fools as to leave silver lying loose like that.
I'm thinking they've got it buried in the well, in a leather bag."
The mob moves slowly; some carry ropes to tie about their bundles, others wooden trays.
The women open out their aprons or shawls calculating their capacity.
All give thanks to Divine Providence as they wait for their share of the booty.
When Demetrio announces that he will not allow looting and orders them to disband, the mob, disconsolate, obeys him, and soon scatters; but there is a dull rumor among the soldiers and no one moves from his place.
Annoyed, Demetrio repeats this order.
A young man, a recent recruit, his head turned by drink, laughs and walks boldly toward the door.
But before he has reached the threshold, a shot lays him low.
He falls like a bull pierced in the neck by the matador's sword.
Motionless, his smoking gun in his hand, Demetrio waits for the soldiers to withdraw.
"Set fire to the house!"
he orders Luis Cervantes when they reach their quarters.
With a curious eagerness Luis Cervantes does not transmit the order but undertakes the task in person.
Two hours later when the city square was black with smoke and enormous tongues of fire rose from Monico's house, no one could account for the strange behavior of the general.
